


Off the Record

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, no plot just conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: A pair of friends discuss recent developments in their city.





	Off the Record

**Author's Note:**

> I decided they're friends. Mostly I just wanted someone to bounce Niola off of because I feel like she is an In to figuring out some of the political situation in Cloudbank and I like her.

Five years ago, no one would have expected the brash Wave Tennegan and the decisive Niola Chein to become friends, but by now the alliance was so established that few questioned it. Niola sometimes appeared on his show to promote or defend her latest project; they were well-matched in debate, and Wave’s needling commentary served to firm up her ideas where they were lacking. For Wave’s part, he—like almost everyone else who encountered her—was impressed by Niola’s altruistic devotion to Goldwalk and its citizens, and he enjoyed bandying about her ideas with the certainty that the ideals behind them would never waver. 

Tonight, however, she was only over for a social call. He mixed up a pair of old-fashioneds and gave her a chance to set the conversational pace for a bit. However, when one topic after another fizzled, he decided he might as well get to the question that was really on his mind. And he had never been known for subtlety. He fetched refills and then cocked a knowing eyebrow in her direction. 

“So, Niola, I heard there was a bit of an incident at your big to-do the other day.”

She sent him a baleful look over her drink. “Do we have to get into this, Wave?”

“Course not. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Good.”

She took another sip of her drink, and Wave waited. He’d heard secondhand about the hotshots who backed her into a corner at the Channel’s opening, but surprisingly little information was making it to the press. Less information than one would think. Almost like someone was sweeping it under the rug. Niola hadn’t said anything about it publicly, either, but he knew her well enough to suspect that the incident was still on her mind. It may have been difficult to get a rise out of her, but it was easy to get under her skin and stay there, and the way she stabbed her straw at the ice in her drink revealed more about her mood than she probably would have liked.

Finally, she sighed sharply through her nose and glanced sidelong at Wave.

“This is off the record?” she asked.

“Naturally.”

“I mean it, Wave. I know you have a duty to your listeners—”

“It could never supersede my duty to a friend.”

Her lips stretched in a brief, grateful smile, and then her face turned grim. She spoke lowly and very deliberately. “Sometimes I think of punching each and every one of those ‘concerned citizens’ in the face.”

He couldn’t help but snort at that mental image, but the look in Niola’s eyes kept him from bursting into outright laughter. She was pale with anger.

“Do you know what they said to me?”

“Do tell.”

“They looked me in the eye and said that the gallery would only promote voices that ‘didn’t need to be heard.’ That the art on display—the creators of which were _present_ , for the record—promoted ‘meritless perspectives’ that are ‘undeserving of notice’!”

Wave raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Wow. They said that out loud, huh? In public? Where other people could hear them, even?”

“I mean they shouldn’t even be _thinking_ it!” Niola protested, her eyes bright with distress. “That’s the entire purpose, the entire _vision_ behind Cloudbank, that everyone deserves a voice! To say that some voices don’t need to be heard is antithetical to everything this town stands for!”

“I agree,” Wave assured her. “Though, not everyone does.”

“I know. I know…” Niola rubbed her temples. “But I’m so used to fighting against all the underhanded arguments, the insinuations, the euphemisms. For them to come right out and say it… and _in front of the artists_ , Wave!”

“If you’d punched them, they would have deserved it.”

“An acquaintance of mine offered to step in, you know. Oh, he was vague about it, but he could tell something was going down and he made sure I knew he was willing to do something about it.”

“Do you wish you’d let him?”

She sighed. “No, I couldn’t have. The optics would have been… terrible by default, _worse_  given his status. But I did appreciate the support. I’ll have to remember to thank him, once I’m…” She trailed off, gestured to herself, and then picked up her drink. “Calmer,” she concluded at last, ruefully.

“Looks to me like it might be a while before that happens,” Wave remarked.

She blinked at him. “Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Wave.”

“What? It’s to your credit that you’re worked up about it.” He lifted one hand and ticked off his next points on his fingers. “First of all, it’s just an incredibly tactless thing to say, period. On top of that, to say it to _you_ , within earshot of the very people they were describing, goes beyond insensitive and straight into cruel. You take these artists’ work seriously, Niola, and that means you take it personally. And last of all, the sheer gall to come out and call any person’s voice unworthy of notice—well, that’s just plain _bad politics_. Frankly, I doubt they could’ve found a better way to get under your skin if they tried.”

Niola sighed and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe they _were_ trying to.”

“Also possible.”

“I did wonder if they were trying to goad me. I don’t know if they hoped I’d lose my credibility along with my composure or if they were just being cruel because they were jealous, but they had this simpering, smug, superior attitude to them, _especially_ when I started getting upset…”

“Complete bastards,” Wave sympathized.

“Every last one of them. I hate them so much, and Wave, I swear, that _cannot_ leave this room.”

“What? I didn’t hear anything. Why, I simply can’t imagine the kindhearted, serene Niola Chein using the word ‘hate’ about anything, least of all another human being. If someone told me you had, I’d say they had a case of mistaken identity.”

“Oh, of course. I could never hate anyone, especially not my fellow citizens who _just want to make sure their own voices are heard_ , Wave. That’s all. Never mind that their voices are the ones that are always heard. Don’t they ever stop to think about the people who don’t have a chance to speak up? Don’t they care?”

“Well, you know the arguments. These are people who’ve never had reason to look beyond the catch-all ‘If they wanted to be heard, they could just start voting.’”

“I don’t understand why they should need a reason to look beyond that,” Niola said. “These people _matter_ , Wave. And Cloudbank has the capacity to care for them right alongside everyone else. We just need to guide her in that direction.”

“And that’s what you’re doing,” he reminded her. “What you’ve done successfully, this time.”

Niola took a deep breath. “Yes. I just hope it sticks. They’re pushing back already, and I don’t know who the admins are going to listen to.”

“Well, I don’t imagine you’ll be giving up anytime soon.”

“Never,” Niola swore.

“Then we’re in good hands.” Wave knocked back the last of his drink and smacked his lips conspicuously. “Another refill for you?” he offered.

“Just a tonic water, maybe?”

“Good choice.” He poured one for himself as well and raised his glass to her before he drank. “You know, it’s been a while since you’ve been on my show. Why don’t you come talk about the gallery sometime? Sell it a little?”

But to his surprise, she shook her head. “The gallery isn’t my project anymore, Wave. I just mobilized the support we needed to make it happen. Now it belongs to the artists. They’re who you want to talk to, not me.”

“You think they’ll come on the show?”

“Some of them might.” She smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen from her all evening. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He answered with a grin of his own. “That’s the ticket! Let’s get these voices onto the airwaves. Get them good and entrenched before anyone else tries to bluster them out of the spotlight. Soon the people will forget there was ever a time they _weren’t_ hearing from them.”

“I hope you’re right.” At last, she raised her glass to answer his toast. “Thank you for this, Wave. I needed it.”

“Anytime, my friend.”


End file.
